A Wholeness of His Own
by Zeledus
Summary: Harry rescues a dying Voldemort from his imprisonment in Nurmengard and sets out on a journey to fix the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul. Voldemort finds he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.
1. A Leap of Faith

**A Wholeness of His Own **

**Rating: M/Explicit **

**Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort/ Tom Riddle Jr.**

**Warnings: Voldemort sympathy, language, explicit slash, large age gap, brief romance with a snaky Voldemort (until his body is restored to its true form).**

**Summary: At the end of Voldemort's life, his soul split and mangled, living his life in the cell that Grindelwald died in, Harry returns to find closure at last and confront the man that had taken so much of his life away. He expects a remorseless monster, no different than before, but finds instead a broken, shattered man, lost to hallucinations and violent seizures, living on a thin thread of life. Harry is clutched by pity and frees Voldemort, bringing him to his home to nurse to heath. Voldemort and Harry begin a journey to put the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul back together. Voldemort finds that he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.**

**A/N: So, I know I already have a Harry/Tom story, but this idea is so drastically different, and it's been tugging at my fingers, so here you go. **

* * *

"You sure you wanna do this, mate? Just 'cause he's locked up don't mean he ain't dangerous." Harry Potter turned to the guard of Nurmengard, his face set in stony determination. He was here for a reason, he wouldn't leave without carrying through with it.

"I'm sure." He replied stiffly, following the guard up an endless set of narrow, dim stairs. It was freezing and damp on the top floor of the prison. He imagined that Azkaban would feel downright inviting compared to the desolation of Nurmengard prison.

Before him stood a thick stone wall, thin cracks showing where the "door" was. There was no way to get in, and no way to get out. You couldn't take any chances with dark lords.

"I'm gonna have to lock you in with 'im." The guard said gloomily, handing Harry a small stone with an indent the size of his thumb. "Rub your thumb along that when you need to come out." Harry nodded once, setting his eyes on the door in resolve. The guard gave him a look mixed between pity and disbelief and stepped forward to the door.

It slid in slightly at his touch, creating a grating noise of stone upon stone as it did so. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed the door in further, entering the cell. The door swung shut behind him with finality and shadowed the cell in oppressive darkness. The windowless room gave Harry a sense of dread claustrophobia. Anti-magic enchantments snuffed out his magic, leaving Harry with a feeling of helplessness. He was locked in a room with Voldemort, powerless.

Of course, so was he, Harry reasoned, and indeed, Voldemort didn't make for an intimidating presence. In fact, it took Harry a moment to see him. He little more than a skeletal glow in the corner, folded into himself. When his gaze lifted, his eyes were not the vivid scarlet of Harry's nightmares. His stare was pale pink, clouded over and unable to focus clearly on the other man in the room.

Harry waited for the anger, the fear, the overwhelming hatred to bloom in his chest. None of those came. Instead, a sharp shard of pity was being shoved into his heart. This man…this was no Voldemort. This was not the same man who had killed his parents, or who had risen in the graveyard.

This man was broken, and he was dying. Harry struggled with himself, he knew it really was Voldemort before him. This man had ruined his entire life. He had taken so much away from Harry. Why should he care if he was locked up and rotting away?

He didn't know why, but he did. In any case, he knew he couldn't leave him here to die. No one deserved that.

"Potter…" A thin, raspy voice broke Harry of his thoughts. He blinked, Voldemort's emaciated form coming back into focus. His face was contorted with pain, an almost…pleading look in his eyes.

"Kill…me." It was like a dagger to his chest. Harry watched in horror as the man's eyes rolled into the back of head. His body seized, the thin limbs curling even further into themselves as his entire body shook violently. He was gasping for breath, foam dripping down his chin.

Harry was at his side without a second thought, his hands hovering uncertainly over him before finally settling over his shoulders firmly. The expected searing pain did not come, but Harry would consider that later. He turned Voldemort's frighteningly light body on his side, swallowing thickly when red tinted foam dripped to the floor.

He had to get him out of here. With magic repressed in the cell, he had no choice but to lift him into his arms. It was disturbingly easy, his body nothing but bones and skin at this point. He held him tightly, trying to control the shudders that still racked his body. He rubbed his thumb along the stone, pressing up against the wall next to the door.

When the door swung open, he pushed it open further with his foot and swung into the other room, catching the side of the guard's face with his elbow. He went down with a grunt. Harry drew his wand hastily, leveling it at the guard.

"_Obliviate."_

* * *

Apparating with an indisposed Voldemort in his arms was tricky, if only because Harry was frightened he would splinch his head off. He managed to apparate into his home safely, however.

It was uncanny, for lack of a better word, to be tucking Lord Voldemort into his spare bed. He laid his long, spidery limbs out on the bed. He stepped back slightly, and stared. Gods, what was he _doing?_ He had spent most of his life either running away from, or trying to kill, this man. And here he was, committing a felony and tucking the greatest dark lord in history into his bed.

Didn't matter, though. He couldn't just let him die. With this resolve he started to work. He started with cleaning him, replacing his dirty shreds of clothing with soft grey cotton pants and a white T-shirt, which he had to spell to fit his thin, but taller frame. It was utterly strange to see him in muggle clothing, and more so, _Harry's_ muggle clothing.

He left to make him some light soup, and when he returned he was surprised to see his eyes were open and disoriented. They slid over to Harry, and in a disturbingly human gesture, his forehead creased in confusion. Harry pulled a chair over and sat down, offering him a spoonful of soup as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Those pale pink eyes looked down at the soup, and then back up at Harry slowly. Harry set his face and held his gaze, holding out the soup expectantly. He opened his mouth without a word, and so Harry Potter fed the Dark Lord.

* * *

"So, let me know if I have this straight. You strolled into Nurmengard to _visit_ the Dark Lord, felt sorry for him, and then _kidnapped him so you could nurse him back to health in your own home?" _Severus' voice was rising to an incredulous yell now and Harry was briefly impressed with the amount of emotion he was showing. He rubbed the back of neck sheepishly.

"I know it sounds crazy…"

"It _sounds crazy_, Potter?" Severus' tone was lowered now, and he had a distinctly dangerous set to his face.

"Hey, come off it. Don't you think you can call me Harry?" The potion master looked at him dryly.

"I won't do it." He clipped, standing up with a flourish of robes. Harry jumped after him, catching his wrist.

"Please, look, I know this is insane. And there's a distinct possibility that he will strangle me in my sleep, but…you should see him, Severus. He is not the same man. He's….he's dying and I think that if I help him, I can, I dunno, change him."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Potter? _Change him_? He might be weak and pathetic now, but I can assure you, he is _exactly the same man_."

"Maybe he will be at first, but I have…a theory. If you sit down, I'll explain it to you. If you still think I'm crazy you can leave, but let me talk, please." Severus looked as if he was struggling, but he finally sighed and sat down once more.

"Do me a favor and pour me some whiskey at least. The bloody Dark Lord is right next door to me, for Merlin's sake." The younger man obliged, handing Severus his drink and taking a seat near him. Severus took a generous pull and then gestured with his hand.

"Alright, go on then." He said, his tone resigned.

"Okay, well, first off, Voldemort wasn't always like this. Something _made_ him this way. It's not surprising, really, considering his childhood. He was raised in a fithy, horrible muggle orphanage, so he's been set up to hate muggles from the very beginning. I saw Dumbledore's first memory of him, when he was eleven in the orphanage. He wasn't an evil child, he was a hurt child who clung to his magic as a way to escape and cope with the torment he was facing at that orphanage."

"Have you considered the fact that he might be inherently evil? Some people are." Harry shook his head, trailing his fingers of the rim of his whiskey.

"I don't think so. I think it was situational evil. It started in that orphanage, an as he got older, well, he wasn't really evil, Severus. He was misguided, and it all went downhill after he opened the chamber. After that he seemed to…fall apart, loose himself, bit by bit. Dumbledore called them horcruxes. He split his soul up." Harry shuddered lightly.

"And you think you can help him put his soul back together?" Severus asked slowly, training his dark eyes on Harry. The younger man nodded, and then looked conflicted.

"Maybe. I don't know. But I have to try. I feel…connected to him. Like…" Severus' eyes darkened and his mouth pulled tight.

"Like there's a piece of him inside you." He stated. Harry turned his eyes to him slowly.

"Yeah…how…" Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers wearily.

"I do wish the headmaster would tell you these things." Harry sat up straighter, a strange mix of alarm and excitement on his face.

"He did mention something like that in my second year. He told me I was a parselmouth because some of Voldemort stayed with me after he tried to kill me as a baby. That isn't…that can't be a…a…"

"Horcrux? It most certainly is. Or I should say, you are." Harry's eyes widened, and he slumped back into his chair.

"Seven, then." He muttered.

"_Seven?_" Severus asked incredulously. He shook his head.

"No, it's not possible. If he's split his soul into seven parts, there's no going back. You have to feel remorse to get those pieces back and at this point he's barely a human being. He isn't capable of remorse."

"Maybe he used to be…" Harry said softly.

"Maybe, but not now. Have you ever seen any evidence we was capable of feeling anything? That man is a monster."

"He asked me to kill him." Harry stated, looking at Severus. "In the cell, I came inside and he asked me to kill him. Do you think the Voldemort we knew would ever willingly give into death? That cell has changed him, and maybe I can keep changing him."

Severus was silent for a long moment and then he sighed deeply.

"I'll bring the potions in the morning. Keep him fed and warm until then." The younger man looked at him in surprise and sudden, overwhelming gratitude.

"Thank you, Severus." The potion's master glared at him half-heartedly.

"Don't thank me, just make sure you're right." He snapped, disapparating with a swirl of black robes.

* * *

He was asleep when Harry came to check on him. He was looking only slightly better than when he had found him. He was still pale as a ghost and painfully thin. His seizures had lessened, but there were times he wasn't quite all there. He had dreadful nightmares, but right now he looked peaceful. And then his eyes fluttered open. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke quietly.

"Are you enjoying this, Potter? Tending the wound before you cruelly rub salt into it?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing? Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?"

"Because I don't want to kill you. I want to help you." There was a strange, strangled noise and Harry realized it was a bitter sort of laugh.

"This is the greatest irony."

"Yes, it probably is."


	2. Connection

**A Wholeness of His Own **

**Rating: M/Explicit **

**Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort/ Tom Riddle Jr.**

**Warnings: Voldemort sympathy, language, explicit slash, large age gap, brief romance with a snaky Voldemort (until his body is restored to its true form).**

**Summary: At the end of Voldemort's life, his soul split and mangled, living his life in the cell that Grindelwald died in, Harry returns to find closure at last and confront the man that had taken so much of his life away. He expects a remorseless monster, no different than before, but finds instead a broken, shattered man, lost to hallucinations and violent seizures, living on a thin thread of life. Harry is clutched by pity and frees Voldemort, bringing him to his home to nurse to heath. Voldemort and Harry begin a journey to put the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul back together. Voldemort finds that he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.**

**A/N: I have sat down to go over my plans for this story and realized a couple things don't line up with where I want this to go, so there are slight changes in the first chapter. Just be aware of that. I won't type them out because it'll ruin the surprises and the natural unfolding of things. Sorry about my lack of foresight. **

* * *

"Are you sure he's asleep?" Severus asked warily, eyeing the door to Voldemort's room. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at the potion's master. For one so usually composed, Severus was practically having a panic attack.

"Yes, he's asleep. Would you like me to spell him to make sure?" He asked sarcastically.

"Yes." Severus stated simply. Harry sighed, giving the older man a withering look.

"He won't bite, Severus, he can barely speak. Can't even feed himself. I've been spooning the all-mighty Dark Lord soup for Merlin's sake." The other man didn't look comforted in the least, but nonetheless gestured for Harry to let him in, a sort of resigned look on his face.

Voldemort was, in fact, asleep. He was far from peaceful, however. His body was seizing slightly, his eyelids twitching as nightmares raged behind them. He looked like death, even now. Despite all logic, Harry's heart panged with pity. He glanced over at Severus, wary about how the man was reacting to being in the same room with the man who had effectively ruined his chance at love.

Severus was stony faced, all of his emotions sealed away under the famous potions master mask. But Harry knew him better than that, had witnessed the varying moods of Severus Snape, and knew the man was struggling. Regardless of this, he stepped forward, placing a case on the bedside table.

Inside the case was a plethora of colored potions ranging from the simple ones Harry could recognize such as pepper up and blood replenishing potions to others that completely escaped him, despite his prolonged exposure to two different potion masters.

Severus drew his wand, and Harry was worried for a moment that he would kill him, but he was just performing diagnostic spells, his mouth tightening and his eyes going a bit out of focus, as if he was trying to not really see the man lying before him. As if he could ignore the fact that this was the Dark Lord.

He began plucking phials out of the case, lining them up on the bed one by one until there was almost a foot of potions beside the man's arm. Severus stepped back, snapping the case shut.

"That should get him stabilized for now, but I need to brew some more complex potions for the amount of mental instability he is showing. It will only get him back to the level of sanity he showed before capture, however, so I surely hope whatever you have planned works. I also need to brew something for his seizures, however they might improve as his overall health improves. I have laid the potions out, but do not expect me to feed them to him, that is where my compassion runs out."

Harry nodded, taking a seat on the bed and picking up the first potion. When he raised his eyes to the Dark Lord, he was met with his red gaze. Those eyes lingered on him and then slid up to Severus, who had stilled, as if he could feel his eyes on his back.

"What is this? Come to poison me? You should have just left me in prison." He hissed, though his voice was weak and soft. Harry's expression didn't change, he simply uncorked a potion and held it to the man's lips.

"It's not poison, drink." He stated. Voldemort sneered slightly.

"As if I'd trust anything that Severus brewed for me."

"He's right, Harry. You should have left him in prison. Ungrateful bastard." He snapped, stalking from the room. Harry sighed, pushing the phial against the Dark Lord's thin lips.

"Well, you would have died if I'd left you there, so it doesn't really matter if this is poison – which it's not – because either way, you die, right? If I were you, I'd take your chances and drink this." Voldemort gave him a weak glare but opened his lips.

Harry fed him each potion, meeting that strange gaze in silence. He gathered up the empty phials and moved to stand but a spidery hand shot out, gripping his forearm with more strength than he would have expected. The expected stab of agony did not come, but Harry was in no position to think that over. He paused, looking down at the Dark Lord.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, his earlier hostility replaced with a hesitant sort of curiosity.

"Because when I saw you I felt sorry for you, because we're connected in a way I can't ignore, because I believe in giving people second chances. And because I know, deep down, that if things had been different, if I had been born in that orphanage, I would have ended up exactly like you."

There was something akin to shock in Voldemort's eyes, something very nearly human. His grip relaxed and his hand slipped down Harry's arm, resting strangely on top of Harry's hand in a distorted mockery of affection before Harry stood. He ignored the tingling sensation that spread over his skin as he left the room.

* * *

"This is madness, Harry" Severus stated as Harry closed the door. The younger man didn't reply as he moved to the kitchen to set the empty phials down to be washed. The older man followed him, leaning toward him against the counter.

"Harry." He said, his tone less volatile and more pleading. The younger man met his eyes apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I have to try." The other man's lips pursed in disappointment.

"I thought I raised you with better sense than this." Harry smiled despite himself, reaching up to tug on Severus' hair and smiling wider at the scowl that painted itself over his father's face.

"You raised me just fine, Sev. You are in no way responsible for my reckless stupidity." Severus rolled his eyes at this.

"I always knew they should have sorted you into Gryffindor. You may be cunning, but you have the heart of a martyr despite my earnest efforts." Severus said dryly, though Harry could tell it was said with affection.

"I learned from the best." He countered, laughing at the scandalized look on Severus' face.

"Don't give me that, Sev. You know it's true. You're the one who risked his life by double-crossing the Dark Lord. If that's not a martyr, I don't know what is."

"Regardless of your ludicrous accusations, that is hardly the point here. The point is that you have a madman in your bed and you're trying to nurse him back to health. You have no reason to believe he can be changed, you owe this man nothing, and he killed your family."

"First of all, you're my family, Sev. Secondly, I do have reason to believe he can be changed, I just have to figure out how. And thirdly, I feel like I do owe him something. I can't explain it, and there's no logic to it, but even without the horcrux, we're connected somehow. Severus, if I had been sent to an orphanage, if I hadn't had you to raise me, who could say that I wouldn't be just as barmy as Voldemort? We're…the same."

Severus went quiet at this, various emotions crossing over his face rapidly. He shook his head slightly, but sighed in resignation.

"You're insane." He said, a note of wonder in his voice.

"So you're going to help me, right?" The younger man asked hopefully.

"Merlin, what kind of father would I be if I left you alone with the bloody Dark Lord?"

"Excellent. First of all, we need to find a place to research horcruxes in detail. I somehow doubt Hogwarts would carry those sort of books, even in the restricted section." Severus nodded distractedly, thinking carefully.

"Well, there is one family that would most likely have the resources you need, but you're not going to like it."

"I have a haunch what you're going to say." Harry said warily. Severus gave him a grim smile.

"The Malfoys."

"Perfect." Harry groaned.

"You brought this upon yourself, I must remind you. And after all, you fed the Dark Lord soup, right? So you should be able to handle a couple Malfoys."

"It's just the one." Harry grumbled.

"There's nothing for it. You want to fix up the basket case, Malfoy's library will help. Hell, that's probably where the Dark Lord read it in the first place." Harry had to agree, but it didn't stop him from dreading the method. Severus was right though, there was nothing for it.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was having a rather uneventful night, as nights go. He and Narcissa were enjoying some wine by the fire, each involved in their own books. Life had been blessedly normal since the capture of the Dark Lord eight years ago and the Malfoys were glad for it. Their lives had only gotten better since their freedom.

And so it was with the greatest confusion that Lucius answered Harry Potter's firecall. He hadn't really spoken with the man in about five years, though they had run into each other from time to time. They got along fine, really, but since Harry and Draco were no longer on good terms, it was rare to sincerely talk with him.

Harry was oddly somber and even a little bit on edge tonight. Which might just be from the awkwardness of their extended silence. Lucius had a feeling it was something else, though, and was preparing himself for the worst as he knelt in front of the fireplace.

"Harry, to what can I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Harry's mouth tightened uncertainly.

"Lucius, I have a rather…strange favor to ask. It is not something to be discussed over fire though, would you mind if Severus and I came through?"

"Not at all, please." Lucius replied, stepping back. A moment later both Severus and Harry stepped from his fireplace, brushing off soot from their clothes. Lucius offered them a seat and a drink, which they refused, and then sat down as well, facing them expectantly.

"So, about this odd favor, Harry?" He prompted. Harry nodded, weaving his fingers together to stop his hands from fidgeting.

"First, promise me you will stay calm. What I'm about to say is a little…shocking." Lucius' eyebrows furrowed slightly but he nodded anyway. Harry sighed, bracing himself for the worst reaction possible.

"Well, earlier this week I made a visit to Nurmengard." He started. Lucius' eyebrow rose, remembering the story in the Daily Prophet about how the Dark Lord had disappeared from his cell and the guard had no memory of it. People weren't panicking yet because the guard spoke about the condition that he had been in, nearly dead. They were hoping he wasn't strong enough to do anything dangerous.

"And, well, the Dark Lord is in my bedroom." He said bluntly. Lucius' face went white and there was a clatter as Narcissa set her wine glass down harder than she had meant to.

"Good Merlin, Harry. Could you have been more crass?" Severus asked, frustrated.

Harry quickly began to explain, despite Severus' snarky comments on the state of Harry's sanity. When he was finished, both the Malfoys had relaxed minimally, though they looked shell-shocked.

"So, let me make this clear." Lucius started, crossing his legs and taking a sip of wine pompously.

"You would like to use my library so you can attempt to put the Dark Lord's soul back together?" Harry nodded affirmatively.

"And what if, say, this works, but we find he's just as much of an evil bastard as he was before?"

"I know it's risky, and it doesn't make sense, but I have always followed my instincts before and I'm not going to stop now. It's something I need to do." Harry said firmly.

"I think Harry is doing the exact right thing." Harry's gaze locked on Narcissa Malfoy in surprise. She was smiling at him gently, and Harry remembered why he had always liked the matron of the Malfoy family.

"How do you reckon that, Cissy?" Lucius asked.

"This is ancient magic that Harry is feeling. It would seem this sensitivity to magic did not end with his mother. What Harry is experiencing, this connection, it's deep and instinctual. The threads of the Dark Lord's and Harry's life are tangled, knotted together. I am guessing that seeing him so close to death tugged on these knots, and Harry reacted the only way he could. With compassion."

No one questioned her, but thought about her words in silence. If anyone were to be trusted about this it would be Narcissa, who was incredibly sensitive to magic. She had an uncanny ability to sense things that escaped others. It almost bordered on being a seer, except that she never saw the future, really. Rather she could sense the potential in magic, including the individual magical signature that all witches and wizards had. The signature would shift closer to large events in a person's life.

Harry's signature was largely silver, but if one looked closely, one could pick out small little red knots, most concentrated at his forehead, where his scar was, but also spread around his body, which indicated it was deeper than a horcrux. It affected his entire magical signature, which also told Narcissa this had been growing for quite a while now. Maybe since the very first time he and the Dark Lord met.

"So, Harry has some sort of connection with the Dark Lord. Does this mean he'll have a better chance of healing him?" Lucius asked.

"I would say so, yes." She answered.

"And why now? Why hasn't he felt this before?" Severus asked.

"Like I said, he was close to death. I imagine seeing this shocked him into feeling the connection more clearly, and it might have even changed the connection in some way." Harry considered this, thinking back to when Voldemort's hand had gripped his arm, and no pain had come. Was this the product of their changed connection? Had it changed so drastically in that one moment of pity and compassion that he could touch Voldemort without pain?

"Well, if Narcissa feels this is right, then I have little reason to argue. I trust my wife's judgment, she is rarely wrong. I will allow you to use our library. I can't help but warn you to be careful, though, Harry. Connection or not, this is a dangerous man we are dealing with."

"I know, Lucius, and thank you." As they stood to take their leave, Narcissa rose.

"Please, Harry, if you could step into the hall with me for a moment?" Harry nodded, telling Severus to go on without him. Severus obliged and he followed Narcissa out into the hall. She took his hand, her expression serious and gentle at the same time.

"I didn't want to say this in front of the men. They might not understand, and you might not understand right now either, but you have a right to know." Harry looked at her with confusion, staying silent as she explained.

"I just want you to know that this connection, especially with the horcrux, well, it's going to get a lot stronger now. Your feelings are going to change and it might be disturbing. This connection has been long in the making and in order to heal the Dark Lord as you wish, you will need to intentionally strengthen your bond to make him stable enough to accept his horcruxes back into his body. Your signatures will become even more tangled, even more muddied. You might start sharing personality traits, and you might become rather…close."

Harry took this in, and found he was not surprised. As if he had known deep down that this would happen even before Narcissa told him. He also found that it didn't bother him like he thought it should. Shouldn't the idea of being so close to the Dark Lord, sharing personality, make him uncomfortable? Or maybe their connection was already affecting him more than he thought.

He squeezed her hand and smiled in gratitude.

"Thank you, Narcissa. Really." She smiled in return, bringing him into a warm hug.

"Any time, Harry. I still consider you like a son, you know. I do wish you would visit more often." Harry blushed, partly from her affection and partly because he was embarrassed for not stopping to see the elder Malfoys more often.

"I do apologize, it's just…" Narcissa nodded in understanding, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

"I know, it's quite alright. I imagine I will be seeing you often now, anyway." She said.

"Yes, I suppose that's true." He agreed, stepping away. He paused, thinking of something.

"Narcissa, would you consider taking a look at him? To help me with understanding how to help our connection?" He asked, though he was worried she would be unwilling to see him. Narcissa looked a little resigned, but she nodded anyway.

"Certainly." Harry nodded in thanks, taking his leave.


	3. Agreement

**A Wholeness of His Own **

**Rating: M/Explicit **

**Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort/ Tom Riddle Jr.**

**Warnings: Voldemort sympathy, language, explicit slash, large age gap, brief romance with a snaky Voldemort (until his body is restored to its true form).**

**Summary: At the end of Voldemort's life, his soul split and mangled, living his life in the cell that Grindelwald died in, Harry returns to find closure at last and confront the man that had taken so much of his life away. He expects a remorseless monster, no different than before, but finds instead a broken, shattered man, lost to hallucinations and violent seizures, living on a thin thread of life. Harry is clutched by pity and frees Voldemort, bringing him to his home to nurse to heath. Voldemort and Harry begin a journey to put the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul back together. Voldemort finds that he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.**

* * *

"If there is any way that I can help, please let me know, Harry dear," Narcissa said as she set a cup of tea and a scone down beside Harry on the large table. He thanked her with a smile, his eyes scanning over the expanse of the Malfoy's library. It looked daunting, though he was sure he wouldn't need to scour the entire library, as he knew it to be meticulously organized. Nonetheless, he felt fortunate to be who he was, someone well versed in focused research.

Although, he had never taken on a subject quite so dark and taboo, as his work was focused more on his own interests – history and Wizard-Muggle relations – he still supposed the skills would transfer.

As Harry scans over the titles in his most obvious section – Dark Arts – he muses about how unlikely his chosen profession is. Sure, he was bound to be an intellect, being raised by someone like Severus Snape would do that to anyone. He still remembers Severus' strict rules for him as a child – read one hundred pages a day, no play before homework, essay at the end of the week on each subject he had learned – and when he had gotten older, advanced Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. It was no wonder he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw, he was so much cleverer than his classmates when he arrived at Hogwarts.

Nevertheless, Harry was swept up into his reputation, whether he wanted it or not. Despite his Slytherin house and his Ravenclaw personality, he was still the Boy-Who-Lived, which seemed to overpower all of his other traits. So whether it was perfectly believable to those who knew him that Harry might _not _become an auror and might instead become a freelance writer and researcher, well, it was still a scandal.

And if Harry also started to publicly date Draco Malfoy, it was only fuel to the proverbial media fire, and oh had it gone up in flames. Harry found it hard not to think about his relationship with Draco, being in his family's library, where Harry could vividly remember Draco's smile as he had asked him to be his boyfriend.

It had been so good for a while, too. Harry and Draco had practically grown up together, with Lucius and Severus being such close friends. It had been natural to grow together, to take their friendship and make more of it. It had seemed like the right thing to do, until they had moved in together and nearly killed one another with the arguments and the fights.

There was no reason or explanation for it; they simply could not live together. Harry loved Draco, he still did, really, but it was obvious from the very first month of living in the same house that Harry Potter-Snape and Draco Malfoy were not meant to be. He had no hard feelings, but that didn't stop Draco from being a git about it.

They hadn't spoken since Harry had broken things off, Draco's pride too injured for them to speak to each other like civil adults. It hurt Harry deeply, because while Draco had been his lover for a year, he had been his best friend for his entire life. He had tried several times to approach Draco and repair things, but he had been so volatile and cruel to him that Harry now dreaded any chance of running into him.

So, naturally, being in the Malfoy's home was setting him a little on edge. He could very well run into Draco at any moment, though he was sure Draco would try to avoid it. It didn't seem to matter to him that Harry had used to be his best friend. He was content with losing that in favor of maintaining his famous Malfoy pride. Though if you asked Harry, he thought he was being rather ungraceful about it. Neither his mother or father would be so rude, no matter how hurt they were, but Draco was…Draco and he had not yet grown into a man, though he played at one.

Harry shook himself away from his thoughts, he was becoming distracted and he needed to focus. He had important things to worry about.

* * *

Hours later, Harry was no further than he had been before. He pushed another book away to join the piles around him and leaned back in his chair wearily. He was not sure what he had expected, this was very dark magic indeed, and it wasn't going to be just lying about for anyone to find.

He turned toward the door as it opened, smiling weakly at Narcissa as she came in with a sandwich.

"You could've sent a house elf with that." He told her, taking the plate gratefully. Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, turning her eyes toward the stacks of discarded books on the table.

"I see you have had no luck." She commented. Harry groaned in agreement around the sandwich, placing it aside as a thought struck him.

"He – Voldemort – he wouldn't have read about horcruxes here, would he?" He asked, voicing his hopes. Narcissa shook her head and his heart plummeted.

"Not that I know of, no. Though he was close friends with Lucius' father, Abraxas, so it is not impossible that he had been using this manor before Lucius was the head of it."

"Would the books have changed, or would he have moved them?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. Though, you do have the horse's mouth in your bed, don't you?" Harry blinked in bewilderment, and then his face contracted in thought.

"I mean, yes, I suppose I do. Though I never thought of…asking Voldemort about it. Which seems utterly silly to me now, of course. I somehow doubt he would tell me, however." He finished.

"Well, it never hurts to try. Besides, you are never going to heal him against his will. He will have to know eventually what you plan to do. I would suggest trying to reach an understanding with him. He is a person, Harry, however distorted of one. I believe he might speak to you, if you make an attempt. Like I told you, there is a connection."

"I know…I, just never thought of having a conversation with him." And suddenly Harry was taken aback at what exactly he had done, for perhaps the hundredth time. He had stolen Voldemort from Nurmengard, _put him in his bedroom, _and was now going to try to convince him that he needed to reclaim all his horcruxes and become mortal again. And what was in it for Voldemort? Why would he opt for healing when immortality had always been his top priority? What could Harry give him that immortality could not?

* * *

Harry hovered anxiously outside the door to Voldemort's room. They had barely exchanged twenty words since he had arrived, and none of them had been cordial. Voldemort had kept asking him why he was doing this, but Harry wasn't really sure. Of course he wanted to help Voldemort, he felt bad for him, felt a connection to him. But none of that really explained the utterly rash actions he had taken to secure Voldemort into his care. There was something much deeper that Harry was unwilling to acknowledge, much less explore.

Voldemort would expect a suitable answer, but Harry wasn't sure what he would say. He had to somehow convince Voldemort that working with Harry toward his recovery was to his advantage. It was inconvenient then, that Harry was terrified even being in the man's presence.

There was nothing for it, though, so Harry took a steadying breath and walked into the room. He was a little surprised – and maybe a little disappointed – to find Voldemort awake, though he was laying still and staring at the ceiling. Harry approached the side of his bed, setting a tray with food down on the bedside table.

When he turned his gaze back to the bed, he nearly started at the gaze that met his. His eyes were returning to their normal color of scarlet. The cloudiness was gone and his gaze had sharpened back into focus. It set Harry on edge, those eyes, but he braced himself and stared back.

"We need to talk." He said, pulling a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down. He held his gaze still, feeling as if looking away would be a sign of defeat. Voldemort continued to stare at him blankly for a minute before he turned his head back toward the ceiling.

"I hardly see what there is to discuss. I understand the situation perfectly." His voice was stronger now, gone was the rasp, and again he sounded like the man of Harry's nightmares. He looked and sounded the part, but he was harmless, Harry reminded himself. They had stripped his magic, he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore. At least not in the way he knew how to.

"Do you? What exactly do you think is going on?" Harry asked.

"You are acting on your foolish hero complex once more. You think helping me will change who I am. You are unable to accept the fact that I am evil. This is who I am." Harry hummed, thinking this over. Did he really think that Voldemort reclaiming his horcruxes would make him a good person? Could Voldemort be a _good person?_ He didn't know, but that was hardly the point.

"For a clever man, you have always been horribly misguided, Tom." Harry commented. Voldemort's head snapped toward him, his face pulled into a sneer.

"_How dare you presume to call me by that name."_ He hissed, the words pulling into the long syllables of parseltongue. Harry leaned forward in his chair, finding himself feeling terribly brave.

"_That is your name, isn't it? Voldemort is the name of a coward who only runs from the truth of who he is. You have always been running, Tom. Isn't it time to stop?" _The sneer fell away, and if Harry didn't know better, he would say that Voldemort looked shocked. He turned away from him again.

"What do you want, boy? I hardly understand why you didn't leave me to die. I am old and magic-less and evil. You will accomplish nothing by trying to appeal to my better nature. I have no better nature."

"You used to, didn't you? Until you ripped it out and put it in that diary, and that ring, and the locket, and the cup, and the diadem, and Nagini. And me." This time Voldemort turned back to him very slowly, and there was no mistaking the emotion on his face; fear.

"How do you know of this?" He asked quietly.

"It was how we were planning to defeat you. Destroy all the horcruxes and then kill you after you had become mortal. Only plans changed, they decided to let you pay for your actions instead."

"You would have never found them all." Voldemort said harshly, though he sounded fearful.

"I know where the diary and the ring are. I have guesses as to where the cup and the diadem are. Dumbledore knows where the locket is." Harry said, watching for Voldemort's reaction.

"Is this what you want, to threaten me?" He asked angrily.

"No, it's not. I told you, I want to help you. But not in the way that you think. See, I know you're not a good man, and I'm not sure you ever will be. But I know that you are not evil. Back when you were a boy, fully intact, you were hurt and misguided, you had experiences that made you who you are, you made choices that made you this man."

"I will never be that boy again." Voldemort snapped.

"No, but you may still be the man you are meant to be. Fully intact. All of your soul within you. Do you even know who you would be if you had all of your pieces back together?" Voldemort looked lost for a moment, his eyes trained on Harry.

"It would never work." He said after a long moment.

"There are too many, there is not enough of me left to find the strength and remorse to reclaim them. The pain would kill me." Voldemort mused, his voice strangely soft and almost regretful.

"I have been thinking about that," Harry conceded "and I think there is a way to make this easier, though it's strange and magic that I don't entirely understand. But before I tell you, I want to know that this is something you will work with me on."

"What is the point?" Voldemort asked, sounding something close to resigned.

"What else is there for you to do?" Harry countered. "The way you are now, there is nothing for you left. Like you said, you are old and magic-less. You have nothing left to lose. You can either work with me to reclaim your horcruxes and face mortality, or lay here for eternity and face a worse kind of death. Not a physical one, but one of the mind. All of your life you have run away from death, but you've never actually lived. Now, maybe it won't work, but maybe it will."

Voldemort was silent, his scarlet eyes looking over Harry's face intently. When he finally spoke, it was most human Harry had ever heard him sound.

"Okay."


End file.
